Bouquet of Roses
by Meandrina
Summary: Scrivenshaft knew a smitten lad when he saw one. One-shot. Please R&R!


The tiny bell jingled to alert the shopkeeper of the entrance of his new customer. He looked up expectantly as he did every second Saturday of each month, hoping for a chance to see his favorite customer. On catching sight of the face of the incomer, he nearly clutched his heart from the joy of finally seeing his prayers get answered.

"Hello, Mr. Scrivenshaft! How are you?", greeted Hermione Granger, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wind.

"Doing jus' fine, my dear. I hope you'll stay a while for the goodies. I've got them all here for you, girl. Straight from Lithuania!"

"Of course! That's why I save up all year, you know," she said, giving him a tiny wave before venturing deeper into the shop's parchment section. First things first for Hermione Granger.

He had known this young woman since she'd been a little girl, and something about her just hinted that she was one of those few souls of Hogwarts that were destined for greatness. He always kept aside a few nice and worthy writing supplies for her, as she was partial to performance over the look or price of the product. In addition to being his favorite customer, she was also the most regular. Not a month went by that he didn't get a small fortune from her dotted with a drop of goblins' lac, the sign of money having been properly exchanged for muggle currency. All the other brats were willing to empty their pockets at Zonko's or rot their teeth down at Honeydukes, but not Hermione Granger.

While she was picking out her regular stuff in the back, he decided to get to work and arrange all the stock at the front desk for her to choose from. He kept the muscle-relaxant quills at the front, followed by the double sheepskin adsorbent parchment and the vial of Lithuanian ink. There was also a journal, the hardbound kind with traditional lock-and-key equipment, except that it would require just the owner's wand. And then there was the purely ornamental paperweight. He wasn't so sure about that one; he'd bought it from the dealer purely on a whim. It was solid unbreakable crystal cut into an indecipherable geometric pattern, and roughly the size of a goose egg. Nevertheless, it was pretty and would look nice in his shop if Miss Granger decided not to have it.

He was nearly finished laying them out in the most flattering sequence when another customer emerged from the depths of the shop.

"Haven't decided on anything yet, have you, lad?"

He glanced at the newer items that he'd just arranged before shaking his head.

This one had entered nearly an hour ago and looked to be the kind least interested in stationery. He'd been killing time ever since, nosing around in the entire shop on the lookout for something extraordinary. Probably hiding from his girlfriend in here – it was Valentine's day after all.

"Well, I could help you find something to your taste. Anything in particular that you need?"

He shook his head again.

Usually, he would have kicked him out just for wasting his time and getting dirt on his floors, but now that he was in a good mood, he let it drop. The boy took this as an invitation to lounge against the front desk and stare moodily around at the items.

Five minutes later, the girl emerged with her hands full of standard issue parchment, two boxes of quills and a packet of muggle post-its. He'd started stocking them up on her suggestion over a year ago, and her advice had profited him a great deal.

He smiled at her as she approached the front desk, but her lips were pressed into a line and her gaze was firmly fixated on the boy. He decided to try and lift her spirits by casual conversation.

"Where's your bouquet of roses, my dear?"

This elicited a swift snort from the boy's direction.

"Why don't you piss off, Malfoy?"

Now, the shopkeeper had never heard such language from her, so he was genuinely taken aback.

"Has this young man been bothering you, dear?"

"Not at all, Mr. Scrivenshaft. I prefer to ignore idiots."

"Granger, I'd like to point out – " started the boy.

"Do you have a policy against the use of magic in your shop, Mr. Scrivenshaft? I'd really like to silence this person."

"Listen here, you little – "

"Now, now you two. I can see that you're not on good terms but try to respect each other on my premises." He pointed towards his inventory, "I have the most beautiful collection here, and I've set them aside just for you.."

The boy moved quick as a flash of lightening – his arm quickly shifting the items towards his side of the desk.

"I'd like to buy these," he said, before plucking the deep red journal and setting it aside, "Yeah, not this."

"Are you deaf? Mr. Scrivenshaft just said that he'd set them aside for _me._ I actually want them."

The boy smirked but ignored her.

"How much?"

"Now, boy. I'm afraid I picked them out for Miss Granger here, but I'll be sure to pick up similar pieces and you can have them next week."

But he was far from listening. He extracted a heavy velvet pouch from his robes and flung it on the table.

"Eighty galleons in this one. I've got another if you want but I think this should cover it."

"How dare you, you nasty little ferret? They're mine!"

"Are they, now?" He addressed this question more at him.

"Take seven galleons out of that pouch. Unless you want me to pack them?," said Scrivenshaft.

"No, it'll do as it is," he paused, before saying, "Throw in that ratty old journal too. I'll keep it to scribble dirty poetry and shit. Priceless stuff, you know."

Hermione Granger actually squeaked.

Both men silently made the exchange while the girl stared at them open mouthed. The boy pulled out his wand to shrink the items before stuffing them into his pockets, which was, as a matter of fact, against the store policy but Scrivenshaft decided to let it pass.

Why? Because he knew a smitten lad when he saw one.

* * *

Hermione Granger entered her dormitory in a fit of anger and curse words. _Vile, rotten, disgusting and pathetic excuse of a human being! And that paperweight was so pretty!_

She snatched her gloves from her hands and pulled her coat off, catching a few strands of her hair in the process before falling back into her bed in a huff. She fell asleep thinking of dirty poetry and blond hair.

When she woke up next morning, her room looked different. She must have been still dreaming because this world was lit up from a thousand different directions and into a million different colours. Still in a trance, she somehow made it to her desk.

It was the beautiful paperweight from the shop, illuminated in a surreal way from the daylight coming in through her window. Next to it were the all the supplies that Mr. Scrivenshaft had promised to her.

There was also a note.

 _It's no bouquet of roses, but happy Valentine's Day._

 _-DM_

* * *

 ** _Yes, its a little too late (or early!) for V-day fics, but I hope you liked it. :)_**


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